Christian poetry & essays about one woman's faith walk.

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)When David faced off with Goliath,
No one thought he could win,
He declined all of Saul’s fancy armour,
Saying His God would settle it all.
So he picked up his sling and five river stones,
And went to face Goliath built like a human wall.
Then in the end, David, the little guy wins,
Goliath’s mouth no longer can spin.

When Job lost everything that he owned,
Even his sons and daughters lay dead,
His cattle, his barns and his servants,
Destroyed like dust in the wind.
When even his own health was taken,
Job trusted God to reveal they were still friends.
Though his wife said curse God and die
Job proved he was wise and kept God first in his eyes.

Peter, waited around in the shadows,
Knowing just who He’d denied,
Three times before the trial was over,
Just as Jesus had prophesied.
Lower than he’d ever felt before,
Peter thought he’d never again walk by Christ’s side.
But with the preparation of Our Father,
Peter was restored and forgiven like no other.

This poem seemed to be everywhere when I was a teenager. On plaques, bookmarks, signs, décor’ and cards and its words seemed to sneak into my heart without my even reading them after a while. Perhaps because I needed to have them engraved in my heart then. I only know I find it no surprise God would bring them back to my mind during this stage of my life.

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,When funds are low and the debts are high,And you want to smile but you have to sigh,When care is pressing you down a bit,Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,As every one of us sometimes learns,And many a failure turns about,When he might have won if he’d stuck it out.Don’t give up, though the pace seems slowYou may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer thanIt seems to a faint and faltering man;Often the struggler has given upWhen he might have captured the victor’s cup,And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out –The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,And you never can tell how close you are –It may be near when it seems afar;So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.

I’ve written poetry since I was in the fifth grade. But as a youth in middle and high school I was greatly influenced by a book of poetry my mother purchased with a title I cannot remember exactly. I’ve tried to track it down, for as the book was lost in a house fire, I’d love to own a copy today. I’ve been unsuccessful.

The book contained the poem titled, The Hell Bound Train, among many others such as Casey at the Bat, and Where Have You Been Billy-Boy. But the poem I first mentioned made a huge impression upon me. The poet, like the book, seems impossible to track down. Many people claim the poem was written by a now deceased loved one but no one has presented evidence to prove the authorship. On both sites, allpoetry.com and poemhunter.com, the poem is listed as being written by anonymous Americans.

Clearly the poem would be considered dated in light of many things about Christianity and sharing the gospel today. But it got my attention some thirty odd years ago and I share it with you today. I have inserted pictures which, of course, the poem was not published with. –Donna

A Texas cowboy lay down on a barroom floor,Having drunk so much he could drink no more;So he fell asleep with a troubled brainTo dream that he rode on a hell-bound train.

The engine with murderous blood was dampAnd was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp;An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones,While the furnace rang with a thousand groans.

The boiler was filled with lager beerAnd the devil himself was the engineer;The passengers were a most motly crew-Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew,

Rich men in broadcloth, beggers in rags,Handsome young ladies, and withered old hags,Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white,All chained together-O God, what a site!

While the train rushed on at an awful pace-The sulphurous fumes scorched their hands and face;Wider and wider the country grew,As faster and faster the engine flew.

Louder and louder the thunder crashedAnd brighter and brighter the lightning flashed;Hotter and hotter the air becameTill the clothes were burned from each quivering frame.

And out of the distance there arose a yell,‘Ha, ha,’ said the devil, ‘we’re nearing hell!’Then oh, how the passengers all shrieked with painAnd begged the devil to stop the train.

But he capered about and danced for glee,And laughed and joked at their misery.‘My faithful friends, you have done the workAnd the devil never can a payday shirk.

‘You’ve bullied the weak, you’ve robbed the poor,The starving brother you’ve turned from the door;You’ve laid up gold where the canker rust,And have given free vent to your beastly lust.